


Proclivity

by cal1brations



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Car Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Power Bottom Crowley, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 10:02:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19354747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cal1brations/pseuds/cal1brations
Summary: But Aziraphale, he's an angel. And he knows about love; knows how it works and how it manages despite all things, it seems. And he knows that every time he steps into Crowley's damned Bentley, with its pristine leather seats and the smell of new car despite the thing being far beyond old enough to retire were it human, it is an act of love that he will willingly repeat again and again, regardless of how he feels about cars or Crowley's terrible driving.





	Proclivity

Aziraphale isn't particularly fond of having Crowley drive him around for a multitude of reasons.

One, the obvious, is that Crowley drives as if it's the end of the world _all the time_. That is, he has no qualms about zipping through downtown London at nearly 80 miles an hour, gripping the steering wheel with a violent grip as he hunches forward. It is the position of someone determined to cause absolute fucking chaos, someone who is dead set on going where he intends to go _no matter what_. Aziraphale is not a fan of speed as Crowley is, so this type of driving is enough to send Aziraphale's heart racing and make his skin go clammy cold at the horrid thought of Crowley crashing and killing them both in a fantastic explosion of fire, oil, and smoke.

Two, the less-obvious, is that Aziraphale just doesn't enjoy cars like Crowley does. When they were first invented, he took a seat in one and was not impressed at how hot the wicked machine got, nor how loud it churned, nor how fast it went. Nothing was very appealing at all about it, not like it was to Crowley, who fawned and drooled over many a car back in the day before he got his hands on his precious, precious Bentley.

But Aziraphale, he's an angel. And he knows about love; knows how it works and how it manages despite all things, it seems. And he knows that every time he steps into Crowley's damned Bentley, with its pristine leather seats and the smell of new car despite the thing being far beyond old enough to retire were it human, it is an act of love that he will willingly repeat again and again, regardless of how he feels about cars or Crowley's terrible driving.

Which is why Aziraphale currently finds himself in the Bentley, sitting in a calm silence with Crowley beside him. They both look out the front windshield, watching the rain pour down over the glass in thick sheets. It makes Aziraphale think of floods and rainbows and a long-haired Crowley telling him about how you can't kill children, but he says none of this out loud, because the silence is rather nice, really.

"It's really pissing down," Crowley hums with a quiet wonder, leaning in over the steering wheel to get a proper look at it. Aziraphale can see how wide his eyes are behind his glasses, and there is something painfully beautiful about the way Crowley can see beauty in the world, despite his protesting it.

Aziraphale thinks he looks so beautiful here, in this moment, that he would really like to kiss him. Give him something else to seem utterly bewildered about.

But, as if Crowley sensed the thought brewing in him, Crowley's head turns to Aziraphale, and Aziraphale finds himself frozen, unable to act. It would—it would be too awkward, now, wouldn't it? He tries to think of ways it wouldn't be weird, now, if Aziraphale just leaned in, just brushed their noses together, just gently cupped Crowley's cheek and guided their lips together.

He thinks of nothing, and instead gives a small smile.

"I don't want to go out there," Crowley says, very blunt. He doesn't really have an expression on his face, but Aziraphale can tell he isn't breathing (not that he has to, but, well, it's a habit they've both taken up because humans don't respond well to people who aren't breathing). He wonders why such a thing would make him hold his breath, but then he catches the way Crowley has subtly turned himself towards Aziraphale.

Suspicious indeed.

"It certainly is coming down," Aziraphale comments, looking out the window once more before sliding his gaze to Crowley. He turns his head a fraction towards him, his lips ghosting around the beginnings of words before he finally says, "I suppose we don't need to get out just yet."

They sit there like that, partially turned towards one another, for a long moment. It seems like time has just... stopped. It hasn't, because they both know what that's like, but for a small eternity it seems like all that has ever been is right here: Aziraphale and Crowley.

And then Aziraphale realizes that not only are they kissing, but that it was _him_ who pushed through the space between them to grab the front of Crowley's shirt and slot their lips together.

Crowley hums against his mouth, and that's certainly a treat. Aziraphale does what his body seems drawn to, which is to part his lips and lick at Crowley's—he isn't even sure why he does it, aside from the fact that he wants _more_ and that if he doesn't get another taste of Crowley very soon, he really might just die.

He cups Crowley's face in his hands, wiggling a bit in his seat to move closer, make it easier to twist and kiss him. Crowley's glasses push at his cheeks a little, so with very careful hands, he pushes them up from Crowley's eyes. The hint taken, Crowley moves to yank them off and toss them on the dash before he's practically on his knees in his seat, reluctant to pull away from Aziraphale as he starts to stalk his way over.

"Wait," he breathes against Aziraphale's mouth as he moves one lanky leg up, reaching past Aziraphale for the handle on the roof. Aziraphale wants to tell him _no_ , he _can't_ wait, he might just fucking combust if he has to wait another second without getting to run his hands all over Crowley and get his fill, which is a very un-angelic thing to think, but is a rather _human_ thing to think indeed.

Aziraphale does wait, because he has no choice, and seems surprised when Crowley lands his boney ass in Aziraphale's lap, legs tucked to either side of him. It's nice and close, and Aziraphale's hands go to touch Crowley automatically, sitting at his sides before crawling under his jacket and pulls him in close.

They don't kiss again just yet, because Aziraphale keeps pulling back just enough so that their noses are touching, but not quite their lips. Crowley takes the hint and struggles not to dive back in, his hands resting at Aziraphale's shoulders, his eyes fallen shut as he takes stock of his new position and how much he _likes_ it.

"Would you—" Aziraphale starts, shivers at the feeling of Crowley's lips ghosting over the corner of his mouth before Crowley decides to work at undoing his bowtie and kiss along his neck as he opens up the collar of his shirt. "Would it be—completely inappropriate if I were to, ah, w-well, assume that—"

"A _sssss_ ume what?"

Crowley's smile is far too telling, but he must know that. Aziraphale smiles in turn, something like exasperation with equal dashes of embarrassment and fondness all wrapped up in the curve of his lips.

"Why, you lovely little letch," Aziraphale tuts, but there's not a bit of bite to it. Those in glass houses, after all, and it's not as if he isn't enjoying the feeling of Crowley's weight in his lap and the way Crowley keeps eyeing him like he's a particularly fine-looking macron, the kind with lots of frills and bits on the top that you pay way too much for but accept your fate after the first sweet taste of it.

Yes, that is quite the look Crowley has as he looks over Aziraphale quietly, tongue peeking out to wet his lips as he bumps their foreheads together, wriggling to sit himself as close to Aziraphale as he can in their current arrangement.

"You can't expect me to help it, Angel," Crowley murmurs, distracted by Aziraphale. He's moving and breathing and oh, Somebody, it's distracting Aziraphale as well to watch him, to feel him. There is something absolutely enamoring about Crowley just existing, doing very human things, like his breaths coming faster due to excitement, and the way his hands stutter a bit as he runs them all over Aziraphale, and how he pushes their hips together in a way that forces a breath out of both of them.

"You do terribly-wonderful things to me, my dear," Aziraphale whispers, tipping his head back against the seat. His eyes fall shut, but only for a moment, for they open up rather quick when he hears Crowley's fingers snap and feels how very naked he suddenly is, the leather of the seat warm against his skin.

Crowley dives his face into Aziraphale's neck, not to ravage him, but perhaps to hide from the fact that he is absolutely _dripping_ love; it's filling the car at a wicked rate, and Aziraphale knows Crowley can't smell it, can't sense it really at all, but it is wickedly seducing for Aziraphale to _sit_ in all the love that Crowley has for him, in this mere moment. It's sexier than any of those human things, where they suck on each other's necks or nibble on ears, or toy with nipples—those things are nice in that physical, human sense, but the sense of love that Aziraphale is so attuned to, being able to sit in an absolute car-full of love makes his arousal skyrocket.

"Oh, my darling," Aziraphale breathes, so softly he barely says it. He feels Crowley's lips ghosting against his neck, like he wants to form words but all he can do is sit in Aziraphale's lap and mouth out silent sounds. They're not even doing the human thing yet, where Crowley rides Aziraphale's cock because the physical pleasure of it is still very, very good, and yet Crowley is still so far gone already.

Crowley ends up giving a little nod into Aziraphale's neck, and it's all Aziraphale needs to know what he's trying to say. _Yes_ , the nod tells him, _yes, please tell me more, call me your darling, say all the things you know will rip me the fuck apart, put me back together again when it's done, love me, love me, love me._

"So good for me," Aziraphale praises quietly, turning to lay a soft kiss at Crowley's temple. He feels Crowley's body shift, rutting against him despite not being filled yet; that will be remedied soon, though.

Aziraphale cards his fingers through Crowley's hair, stroking a thumb against him. Crowley shivers and the love that radiates off him is borderline intoxicating; it's like when they're sitting in Aziraphale's parlor and drowning themselves silly in some luxury wine that Aziraphale has set aside for them to toast with to something rather mundane, but still delightful all the same. He feels his human body reacting to the nonhuman stimulus, his cock hard against his belly, between the two of them. Crowley isn't doing much better, his prick trapped between their stomachs, which gives him the perfect reason to rut so deliciously in Aziraphale's lap.

"Fuck," Crowley hisses through clenched teeth.

"What is it, love?"

Crowley moans at the name. Love. " _Ungh_. Don't tease me, Angel."

"Teasing? I would never," Aziraphale answers, soft and sweet and everything else that he is. He runs a hand down Crowley's back, settling it at Crowley's narrow hip in order to pull him down, encourage Crowley to grind against him. "I can't know what you want if you don't tell me, right?"

"Fuck," Crowley says again, face pressed deep into Aziraphale's neck. A shiver rips through him, and he squirms to make himself comfy in Aziraphale's lap. "Everything. I want—everything. You. Us. All of it."

Aziraphale smiles, nodding as he tries to shift himself to sit a little lower in the seat. It's less proper, certainly, but it'll be far better for what's going to happen next, so the lack of propriety can be forgiven, he thinks with great satisfaction.

"Of course, dearest," Aziraphale murmurs, stroking a very affectionate hand over Crowley's back, feeling the subtle knobs of his spine in the process; a boney thing, he is. Aziraphale wouldn't have him any other way. "Shall I warm you up?"

Crowley seems to think that's an excellent idea, given the way he moans out a low noise and nods his head greedily. "Yeah," he all but wheezes.

They don't really need to do all the fancy prep work that humans have to do in these situations, but there's something about it that is very appealing. For Aziraphale, he just likes to touch Crowley. He loves to make him feel good, give him pleasure in all kinds of ways, so giving him a good fingering before letting Crowley ride him like a man possessed is just part of the fun of it all. For Crowley, he is a fan of the earthly pleasures, like having his angel mercilessly stroke that magical little bit just inside his ass and drive him absolutely fucking wild. Human bodies are amazing, and Crowley likes to indulge—a little lust, a little greed, it's all good.

Aziraphale fingers him then. Uses up a miracle to slick his fingers before he goes jamming them anywhere. Crowley hunches over him, gripping tight at both the seat and Aziraphale as those fingers work him open, make him think about what's going to happen next. Crowley pushes back against Aziraphale's fingers, ruts his cock against Aziraphale's thick thigh. These wonderful little noises fall out of his mouth, and Aziraphale tries to kiss him so he can swallow them all and taste the love laced into every little breath Crowley makes.

"Crowley, love," Aziraphale whispers against his lips, giving Crowley's very human prostate a nice nudge. Crowley all but jumps at the feeling, arching his back with a moan that seems a lot like a demand for more.

"Excellent, absolutely brilliant," Aziraphale tells him, continuing to move his fingers, giving Crowley something to push himself back against. Crowley is too focused on the earthly pleasure to notice all the inhuman pleasure he's giving to Aziraphale in the process, but that's alright. Aziraphale will continue to lose himself in the warm, nearly-burning heat of Crowley's love nearly suffocating him in his Someone-damned Bentley.

"Think you're ready?"

"Been ready," Crowley grunts. "Are you?"

"Of course I am, my lovely dear. Would you like to do the honors?"

Crowley nods, greed all over his face as he pulls himself up from Aziraphale's neck, finally. He stretches up, giving Aziraphale a lovely look at the length of his pale, slender form. He is so perfectly created, so lovingly crafted, Aziraphale wants to cum right there and then.

But he waits. He resists.

Because Crowley is taking Aziraphale's cock in his hand, a sensation that is very nice indeed, and guiding it to where Aziraphale's fingers were just buried. He rubs it against his hole, shutting his eyes and moaning out at the mere thought of Aziraphale pushing inside him; not that Aziraphale would, because he knows that Crowley seems to get a kick out of doing these things himself, like sitting himself on Aziraphale's cock and watching the way the very-human pleasure washes over the angel's face.

This time is no different. Crowley slowly sinks himself down, his slender thighs trembling from the movement. Aziraphale feels his mouth drop open, but the blood is rushing so loud in his ears, he hardly hears his own moan as Crowley takes him in. It's so fucking good, _fucking_ hell, Crowley doesn't know how good he feels and that is an absolute fucking shame, Aziraphale thinks distantly. It's a tragedy, because not only does Crowley feel fantastic when he's seated all the way down, but there's so much more than just Aziraphale's prick in his ass.

There's the way Crowley drapes himself over Aziraphale for a solid minute, hugging to him like he doesn't know what to do with himself aside from exist and hold Aziraphale. His breaths come in these little pants, between swears he whispers out, and the love is just completely overwhelming. There's so much, there's _so much_ of it right now, and it's all for Aziraphale. It's unlike any human thing Aziraphale could ever describe, but it's so good, he can't really fathom how he ever lived without this for so many centuries.

"Ah," Crowley sighs, as if he's taken a particularly delicious sip of something and found himself refreshed. He pulls back from crowding around Aziraphale, but only so that he can brace himself against the seat and the ceiling of the Bentley. "Fucking _brilliant_ , Angel."

" _Brilliant_ ," Aziraphale agrees in one big breath. He looks up to Crowley, rather enjoying the way Crowley is eyeing him, because the amount love in that one gesture is almost enough to make Aziraphale go completely fucking stupid.

Crowley starts to move.

Aziraphale is very distracted by both the way Crowley's face looks while he's fucking himself on Aziraphale's cock, and the way Crowley moves, serpentine, against him, the way his muscles flex with every little movement. He is just too beautiful not to watch, Aziraphale cannot bear to look away from him.

He brings his hands up to touch, because Crowley's beauty needs to be properly admired. He puts his hands on Crowley's chest, moves them down over his nipples in a way that makes this high-pitched noise bubble from Crowley's lips as he bucks rough against Aziraphale in response. He moves them down Crowley's body, over the slight bumps of his ribs, the slender cut of his stomach, his narrow hips. They stay there, moving along as Crowley brings himself up and down of his own accord, setting the pace to take his pleasure.

Aziraphale doesn't mind in the slightest. Not when he gets to drown himself in all the love Crowley is pouring out. The windows are fogging and sure, it might be their heat and breath making that happen, but Aziraphale knows it's also the love making it absolutely stifling in here, making it almost too much to bear. But if he's going to die in any way, dying in the midst of sharing such an experience with Crowley might be just fine.

"Angel," he hears Crowley croak out somewhere above him; Crowley is talking to the ceiling of the Bentley, too engulfed in his current efforts. "Can you— _ahn_ —"

Right. Of course!

Aziraphale nods, petting his fingers over the insides of Crowley's thighs, watching the way Crowley's whole body shivers.

"You lovely creature," Aziraphale starts, voice low with a need that surprises even Aziraphale. "The things you do to me. You unravel me completely, darling."

Crowley nods, the strain apparent on his face. He keeps moving, riding Aziraphale, one hand braced against the ceiling as the other grips the handle, using it to help him move himself over Aziraphale's cock.

"You have no idea," Aziraphale whispers, trying to arch up to kiss Crowley. He'll never reach, but that's alright. "You'll just never know. Your love is— _mmh_ , Crowley...—downright _intoxicating_. I'll never tire of you. Never, never."

Crowley moans, nodding his head viciously. "Yeah," he pants, "more—Aziraphale, _please_ —"

More love, in that word. It makes Aziraphale gasp this time; so much is being stimulated, he really might just die, explode into a million tiny pieces, like another big bang.

"You'll never go without," Aziraphale tells him, increasingly more desperate. "Whatever you need, love, you'll have. I'll give it to you. Everything, everything, every— _oh_ , heavens--!"

Crowley's speed increases rapidly then. He holds himself up, muscles screaming, and gives Aziraphale a proper ride—though it is more for Crowley's pleasure, as he chases himself to the edge of orgasm. He's nodding and moaning and chanting things like " _fuck_ " and " _yes_ " and " _Aziraphale_ " but that last one gets slurred out with a snake-like hiss that only sneaks out when Crowley isn't paying enough attention.

It's not like Aziraphale isn't toeing the edge himself; it'd be a real, honest miracle if he could withstand the love that is suffocating him with every breath in this cramped-up car. It's leaking out of Crowley's pores, in every little breath he makes, in every movement that joins him to Aziraphale—and he doesn't know it, he doesn't know how hard it is for Aziraphale to breathe when every breath involves basking in such a potent love. His head is swimming, his body is trembling, everything just feels... well, _ineffable_.

Crowley starts up a throaty chorus of _oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck_ when it starts to hit him, when he teeters over the edge. Aziraphale feels it, because Crowley's whole body seems to clench tight as his orgasm rips through him. He grinds himself down, keeps himself seated and Aziraphale's cock deep inside as he cums.

"That's it," Aziraphale whispers, breathless himself, writhing and wanting to partake in the bodily pleasure that their lovely, lovely humans get to know. "There's a love. So gorgeous, so wonderful. My lovely Crowley."

Crowley makes a moan that comes out far filthier than perhaps expected, unless you were Aziraphale, who knows the soft spot Crowley has for such adoring praise.

Aziraphale doesn't move much as he watches, content to do so. Making Crowley come undone is such a gift, he will savor every moment of the act. He loves seeing the peace that crosses his face just after the orgasm, the way he relaxes with a breath that seems to exhale all the stress (and copious amounts of love) from his body, leaving him pliant and vaguely puddle-like. Semen spatters lay against his skin, against his belly, but it's not an unpleasant sight. A job well done, really.

But admiring is cut short, because Crowley starts to move. He drags himself up again, a movement that earns a soft noise that is between arousal and pain (a very vague line, at times) as he lifts off Aziraphale. It's almost a loss, but then Crowley is leaning in to both kiss Aziraphale with his wicked tongue, and slide a hand between them to jerk him off.

The love, oh Someone, the _love_. It's all over Crowley's tongue, along his teeth and the insides of his cheeks, and he's putting it directly into Aziraphale's mouth, letting them share the taste of it. Crowley, well, Crowley doesn't really know it, but Aziraphale knows. It coats his tongue, it makes his blood sing, it makes him feel like he really might implode like some kind of too-old star.

"Love you," he hears, soft enough that it might just be a passing ghost in his imagination, were it not for the radioactive levels of love that make Aziraphale tip his head back in a near-shout as he bursts. His cock throbs in Crowley's grip, which is tender and gentle and loving—fucking _hell_ , the amount of love in this car really might kill him with how concentrated it all is.

He cums, and there's the nonhuman parts of it that happen too, where he feels like time has slowed exponentially and can feel every single atom in his body that is touching every single atom of Crowley's and the thicket of love that settles around them. Aziraphale can't seem to catch his breath, but it's alright. Smothered in demon love is a fine way to go. He can accept that.

"—love, love, _love_ you," he hears Crowley whispering, the words coming fast and hot like a feverish prayer he hasn't the time to think of properly. His love is so... _much_. It's smothering, but only in the best of ways, in the ways that make Aziraphale's whole body tingle and want to float away and wrap him up forever in the feeling of a love that's been thousands of years in the making.

They sit like that for a while, lazy and sated. Aziraphale tries not to get lost in all the delicious love that specifically has his name written in it while Crowley seems to be nodding off with his face pushed into Aziraphale's shoulder.

Aziraphale turns his head to kiss Crowley's ear. "Have you come to your senses yet, darling?"

Crowley makes a noise like, " _Mnh_?" in question.

"We've soiled your car."

"Oh," Crowley grunts, and shakes his head. "Naw. She's fine. I'm even _better_."

"Still out of it, then."

"I'm enjoying the _afterglow_ , Angel."

Aziraphale hums out a laugh. "Hardly an _after_ glow. The amount of love in here is just this side of overwhelming, my dear."

"Oh?" Crowley asks, and Aziraphale knows a leer in Crowley's voice when he hears it. He doesn't even need to move to know Crowley is eyeing him curiously, perhaps wondering just how much love it might take to get Aziraphale willing to fuck him again (the answer is: not much, because Crowley is constantly exuding love for Aziraphale that is, in the very best way, overwhelming). "That so?"

"Quite so. That and—" Aziraphale turns to the window, where the rain is still pouring down. "The _outside_ business..."

Crowley grunts, but there's a firm snap before clothes are covering their bodies again. Crowley has still not lifted himself from Aziraphale, but Aziraphale can't really find it in him to care right now. All he wants to do is drink in the love that's enveloping the both of them, the love with his name written all in it and throughout it, always, even if it's inside Crowley's car, which is parked not even ten footsteps outside of Aziraphale's door.

Well. They'll make it inside at some point.

* * *

 

They do make it inside, once the rain has let up a bit. Aziraphale pours them each a glass of wine that turns into several, and Aziraphale gets so drunk on alcohol and all the love going on this evening that he ends up falling asleep.

When he wakes (in his parlor, sprawled over a chair in a very unbecoming way), Crowley is not to be seen. But as Aziraphale opens the shop for the day, the demon comes barging in with breakfast from some little bakery-thing-place that Aziraphale always titters about when he's stone-cold drunk.

They eat together.

(Well, Aziraphale eats, and Crowley sips a coffee while watching him with unrivaled adoration, and maybe Aziraphale convinces him to try a little bite of whatever horridly-sugary thing he's eating, and maybe Crowley takes a bite and gets frosting on the corner of his mouth and Aziraphale leans in to kiss it very, very softly off him, and maybe Crowley sits there struggling not to just fucking scream about his undying, unyielding, love for Aziraphale into his very hot coffee.)

**Author's Note:**

> Me: [thinks real sophisticated, detailed thoughts about Aziraphale and Crowley as both a couple and as individuals]
> 
> Also me: [writes this] :)


End file.
